


A Christmas Favour

by Call_Me_Clarence



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Decorating, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Kisses, Christmas Tree, Christmas surprises, KatsJohnlockXmas2019, M/M, Molly and Greg get roped into decorating, Sherlock's Christmas tree is as odd as you'd think it would be, deck the halls of Baker Street in boughs of holly, it's just fluffly fluff about holiday decor tbh, mistletoe kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_Clarence/pseuds/Call_Me_Clarence
Summary: Mrs.Hudson wants to decorate 221b for the Holidays. Sherlock needs some convincing. Christmas fluff ensues.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Kat's Johnlock Xmas 2019





	A Christmas Favour

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbetaed as my beta is currently asleep heheh...Expect this to get a revamp as soon she realizes I posted this without her. (also pray for me, I may not survive her death glare). 
> 
> This is part of Kats Johnlock Xmas 2019, Day 2. The prompt was Xmas Tree.

Mrs.Hudson watched as John and Sherlock struggled with carrying a large rectangle-shaped cardboard box up the stairs from 221a into 221b. 

“Thank you boys,” she said once they’d sat the box down in the cleared out space next to their couch, by the wall opposite the windows. She gave John a warm kiss on the cheek and then placed a hand over her heart, looking between John and Sherlock, “You don’t know what this means to me. Can’t believe I got a nine foot tree for an eight foot room!” She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, “Honest mistake, though. Anyone could make it.”

“Not anyone,” Sherlock said under his breath. 

“We’re happy to help, Mrs.Hudson,” John said loudly, to cover up Sherlock’s rude grumbling, “Now we can have a proper Christmas.”

“That’s just what I was thinking!” Mr.H laughed in excitement, “Can’t you just see all the tinsel and lights!”

“And evergreen wreaths and bows to go over the doorways and on the mantle.” John joined in.

“Oh! And we’ve got to get some candles! With the aesthetic you two boys have going on,” She looked around the room with perhaps a bit too critical of an eye, “I think some  _ older _ christmas themes will fit right in.”

“No candles on the tree though,” John warned, “Watched a documentary about that on the telly last night.”

“I think I saw that as well, dear. Wasn't it just  _ dreadful _ ?”

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock cut in, having somehow got to right beside them without either of them noticing. John jumped a little, not so much at Sherlock’s teleporting act, he was far too used to that by now, but instead by the deranged look in Sherlock’s eyes. “We said you could put your tree in our rooms.”

“Yes, dear?” Mrs.Hudson looked up at him, confused and concerned. 

“Decorating the whole flat is  _ not _ simply putting up one tree.” he sounded about as manic as he looked. “That is not what he agreed to.”

“It won’t take but a tick, dear. And then you’ll have the place all nice and done up.”

“But I don’t want the place ‘all nice and done up’!” 

“ _ Sherlock _ .” John chastised him for the shouting. He then turned to Mrs.Hudson, “I’ll have a chat with him.”

She trilled in excitement, “I’ll get everything ready.” she smiled brightly, then turned to Sherlock waving a placating hand, “For tomorrow, dear. Don’t you worry. Nothing will go up tonight.”

“I don’t want her to get everything ready,” Sherlock nearly pleaded to John as Mrs.Hudson made her way out quietly, “John, we agreed on the tree. The  _ one _ tree. Nothing else was mentioned besides ‘Christmas tree’!”

“Yes, well,” John shrugged his shoulders, hands in his pockets and swaying from side to side, “It’ll make Mrs.H happy?” he tried.

“I don’t want to make her happy.”

“Sherlock.” another chastisement.

“A few words will make her happy. A new bunt cake pan. One singular flower, John, will make Mrs.Hudson happy! Why in God’s name should we dress up the flat with frilly little bits of false holiday cheer!?”

John pinched the bridge of his nose, “Listen,” he looked back up to Sherlock, “If you think of ‘happiness’ as a commodity, yeah? Then assess the things you just mentioned and the amount of ‘happiness’ that comes from each one. Then realize that the value of doing this for Mrs.Hudson has far more ‘Happiness’ value than all those other situations put together.” John gave Sherlock a look that said he’d just won.

Sherlock blinked. Took a deep breath through his mouth.

“Do you think,” he started, turning his head to the side and raising a brow, “That if we do this for her, then I could get out of doing other things? If what you say is true, then the level of happiness from this one small favour should last her a good long while, yes?”

John closed his eyes, shaking his head but unable to hide his smile, “Yes, Sherlock. You might even get out of a row or two the next time you set something on fire.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up with understanding and excitement.

Then he took off.

“Hey, wait, hang on,” He followed after Sherlock’s brisk walk towards the back on the flat, “Sherlock, where are you going?”

Sherlock emerged from his bedroom holding a plastic container.

“Need to go gather supplies. And there;s no time like the present. Present! Ha!” he grabbed his coat, setting the box down to put it on and then wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“O-kay. But where are you going?”

“Christmas shopping, John! I’ve got decorations to buy.” Sherlock picked up his container and was off like a racehorse once more.

“Hang on!” John almost laughed as he rushed after Sherlock who was already on the stairs, taking three at a time, “Mrs.H said she had supplies.”

“NO!” Sherlock bellowed, before slamming the front door shut.

“Did you two have a row?” Mrs.Hudson asked, coming from her apartment.

She looked up to John, who was halfway down the stairs, but all he could do was laugh.

\---------

“I’ve got to pop off to the shops. Either of you need anything?” Mrs.Hudson called up the stairs.

John looked over at Greg who just shook his head.

“No Mrs.Hudson, we’re all good, thanks!” John called back.

“Where do you think he went?” Greg asked, checking his phone for the tenth time in the past half hour.

“Christmas shopping.” John shrugged.

They heard the door to the outside shut. And then almost immediately it banged open. 

Intrigued, John left Greg at where he was putting up the last few branches on the assemble-it-yourself christmas tree, and went to look down the stairs at who’d just burst in like an absolute git. Could it be an angry client?

“John!” Sherlock called from the bottom of the stairs, “Go help Molly get the rest of the bags out of the cab.”

“Molly?” John asked confused, heading down the stairs as Sherlock ran up them. They squeeze past each other and John could see Molly teetering into the main entrance, so many plastic bags on her person that she was nearly swallowed up by them.

“Here,” John said, taking some of them off her.

“Thanks,” She grunted, “There’s more in the cab.”

“Jesus,” John gave Molly a wide-eyed look, to be met with one of agitation and exhaustion, before he headed out onto the street. He was barefoot, so he hopped a little on the freezing pavement, the exact same yet opposite reaction to hot sand on a beach.

“Have they paid you?” he asked the cabbie as he ducked in to grab the last five or so bags.

“The little lady did,” he grumbled.

That wouldn’t do. John would have to pay Molly back when he got inside.

John made it back up the stairs, depositing the Christmas shopping onto the couch like Molly had done. He turned around to question Sherlock on what all it was that he’d bought, when his heart sank.

Sherlock was talking to Lestrade, had a hold of the Inspectors phone too, no doubt looking at crime-scene photos.

John tried to hide his disappointment. It’s not as if he wasn’t expecting this to happen the moment Greg showed up with a case. But still, he’d half-hoped that Sherlock would be too into this Christmas Frenzy of his and would dismiss Greg without a second glance.

John had looked over the case. He didn’t think it was more than a five, to be honest. A missing persons. Hadn’t been seen in five days now. The only thing of interest was that, even though he lived above a butcher’s shop in a very busy part of London that had people and CCTV all over pretty much round the clock, no one had seen the bloke leave his flat. Not from the front, not from the back alley. He’d just disappeared.

If Sherlock did take this case though, John would be right there beside him. Of course he would. Decorations and Christmas Frenzy abandoned. It could be a week or more they might be on the job. They might even miss Christmas all together...

Sherlock looked up from Greg’s phone, giving John an unreadable look, and John realized what his face must look like. He coughed to clear his throat, but couldn’t look away from Sherlock for long.

“The Butcher did it.” Sherlock said, handing Greg back his phone, eyes still on John.

“What?” Greg fumbled with his phone, “How’d you figure?”

“Obvious.” Sherlock smirked.

John felt himself smile, ready to be amazed, as usual. And inordinately pleased that Sherlock had solved the case already. Maybe Christmas was saved after all.

“Noone saw the victim leave, because he didn’t. He’d been in a row with the Butcher in the shop below his own. You can check with the landlord, he’d filed several complaints by the time their arguments came to a head. The butcher and the victim got into a fight, or maybe there was a little push and tumble down the stairs. Either way, our missing person ended up dead.”

“Well, if so then how did the Butcher move the body out without the CCTV cameras, or anyone else, noticing?”

Sherlock smiled devilishly, “In pieces.”

“Taken out with the trash, then?”

“Not exactly. The Butcher has had quite the sale on Pork recently. I think you’ll find that the locals have been eating meat that is less pork and more… ’long pig’.”

Greg looked shocked. 

John, god help him, started laughing. Sherlock joined in.

“Yes, forced cannibalism, the oldest joke in the book,” Greg shook his head at them both and began rampant texting, no doubt alerting his team to arrest the Butcher.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Sherlock turned to Lestrade, dumping a bag of ribbons into his hands. “You’ve been recruited.”

“Hey, I was texting!” Greg griped, but then looked up, “Recruited for what?”

“Decorations. It’s your new Division.”

\-----

Everyone was supremely absorbed into their tasks. Greg was hanging garland over the doorways. Molly was stringing up lights around the flat with expertise and precision. Sherlock was wrapping ribbon around the tree--he’d somehow found some that matched the wallpaper to the flat almost exactly. And John was setting up those candles Mrs.Hudson had suggested. 

“Yoohoo!” echoed up from downstairs along with the front door opening and closing.

Everyone froze.

“John.” Sherlock said and John noded, heading downstairs immediately.

“Hey Mrs.Hudson,” John said, approaching her, “Need some help?”

“Yes, dear, thank you,” She sighed thankfully, handing off some of her groceries to John. “Sherlock said if he was going to let me brighten up the place, that he wanted a christmas pudding to go along with everything, or else he wouldn’t stand for it.” 

John rolled his eyes when Mrs.Hudson couldn’t see. Sherlock could have come up with hundreds of ways to get Mrs.H out of the flat, without it involving her making him something in return. But John could see the logic to it. Now they had extra time to get everything completed upstairs as Mrs.Hudson cooked up the pudding. John, of course, had been enlisted to help her, but mostly just to keep her downstairs.

Sherlock had this idea that to get the biggest impact, and the most happiness out of it for Mrs.Hudson, that they should get the flat completley done up today, and suprise her with it. He said it would be able to get him out of a stern talking to for starting at least four fires, one human head in her fridge, and that he’d get at least five favors out of her as well. 

John didn’t know if that was exactly accurate, or at what kind of monster he’d created by getting Sherlock to view ‘happiness’ as a thing to trade with. At least he was getting a flat all done up in Holiday decor out of the deal, so John couldn’t really complain. Maybe he was a monster as well.

\------

Cooking with Mrs.Hudson turned out to be a lot more fun than John had initially thought. She played old-timey Christmas music--a lot of Bing Crosby--and they danced and laughed as the got the Christmas pudding done up.

“Now for the finishing touch,” she said, and John checked his phone, shooting off a text to Sherlock to see if they were ready. He got an instant reply that they were, and so John turned his attention back to Mrs.Hudson, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

Mrs.H had a sifter filled with powdered sugar and was dusting the top of the pudding with it. Once she was satisfied by the absolute mountain of sugar she’d created, she took a red berry, green leaf attached, and sat it gently on top. 

“This looks amazing,” John congratulated her. It really did too. Just like something out of some made for TV Christmas film. He gave her a side hug and she laughed.

“Oh, you.” she swatted at him, “You did half the work.”

“And I’d’ve made a mess of things if you hadn’t told me what to do.” 

“Let’s take this up.”

At the bottom of the stairs, John offered to take the pudding from her.

“Thank you, dearie, my hip, you know” she motioned to said hip before ascending the stairs. 

When they opened the door to 221b the flat was dark, save for a few candles lit about the place.

“Yoohoo?” Mrs.Hudson questioned the apparently empty flat.

“Molly!” John heard Sherlock hiss.

And then there was light.

Mrs.Hudson let out a gasp at the sight before her. John did too. Even though he’d seen most of the decorations put up, he hadn’t seen the lights on before he’d had to go. 

The flat was the essence of Christmas. An old-timey Christmas. Even older than the Bing Crosby Mrs.Hudson and he had been blasting downstairs. It rang of Victorian winters long since passed. Of a time and place that had been but wasn’t anymore. Yet they’d somehow managed to capture and bring into Baker Street, bundled up in evergreens and and red bows. The Fairylights were about the only thing John could see that had any modernity to it, but they gave the flat an ethereal glow, adding more to the effect that they’d stepped through the veil and into another time.

“Oh,” Mrs.Hudson gasped wetly, putting a hand over her heart. She looked around at them all, Greg, Molly, John, before her eyes landed on Sherlock, “Oh, Sherlock.” And then she went over to him, wrapping her arms around him and all but sobbing into his fancy purple shirt.

“Umm,” Sherlock looked up at John, who moved the pudding over to one hand so he could give Sherlock a thumbs up, let him know that Mrs.H’s tears were good, and of the happy sort, not that she was upset with him or that anything was wrong.

Sherlock gingerly, and awkwardly, half-wrapped his arms around Mrs.Hudson, not being able to envelop her in a full on embrace, but still patting her back affectionately, if a bit robotically. 

“I take it you’re pleased?” he asked.

“Pleased?” she scoffed, leaning back and wiping at her eyes, “Enchanted, more like.” then she laughed at her own blubbering, “Oh, I must look a right mess.”

“No, no!” Molly stepped forward to quickly dash that thought.

“Your sweet dear, but I can tell when I’ve cried half my makeup off.” She sighed and then looked back to Sherlock, narrowing her eyes suddenly and pointing a finger at him, “I should’ve known you were up to something.  _ Christmas pudding _ . You’ve never asked for anything of the sort since I’ve known you.” then she patted him on the arm and thanked him again.

“Really, I can’t take all the credit.”

“Not even half!” Lestrade protested, “After he finished the tree he sat on his poncy arse, directing us about like his little minions.”

“You  _ were _ having trouble getting the garland right,” Molly defended quietly.

Greg rolled his eyes.

“Pudding, anyone?” John cut in, holding up the Christmas pudding, which got it’s own round of ‘ooo’s and ‘aaa’s.

\-----

“Do you think those are real bird skulls?” Greg motioned at the christmas tree with his cup of eggnog, towards the plethora of off-white little skulls that hung all around as ornaments.

John just shrugged, but he knew very well that Sherlock had been doing quite a few experiments lately involving bird feathers. He’d been wondering how Sherlock was percurring the feathers, and where, if there were any, had the rest of the birds got to. Apparently in a plastic bin in Sherlock's room. John hoped he’d just had skeletons in there, and not a jumble of decaying birds...though he wouldn’t put it past the madman.

“Real.” Sherlock smiled, sidling up next to them, “That’s why I had to go to Barts. Molly has the best flesh eating beetles in London, and I couldn’t bring myself to boil or bleach them. They’d lose their particular color,” he held one of the skulls away from the tree fondly before letting it swing back.

Greg just raised his brows at that, and gave John a little side look that said ‘This is the man you live with?’. To which John replied with a little shrug that said ‘I know, but what can you do?’.

\-----

The night dragged on slowly but happily, everyone over indulging in eggnog and pudding, Bing Crosby having somehow made his way up the stairs and now playing softly from Sherlock Bluetooth speakers.

“Oh! I forgot one thing!” Sherlock said suddenly, shooting up from where he’d been sitting next to Greg on the couch, going over a few cold cases Sherlock had bet him that he could solve in five minutes or less. “Mrs. Hudson! Do you have a star? For the tree??” 

“Yes, dear. It’s in the box by the end of my bed.

Sherlock darted down the stairs. Then John’s head had popped up like a meerkat who’d just sensed trouble. Shit!

He ran down the stairs after sherlock, into 221a, only to get there too late. 

“Mrs.Hudson got another tree up already?” Sherlock turned from where he was staring at the smallish silver tree, done up in red ornaments and ribbon, to find John looking back at him guiltily. “Did you put this up for her while the rest of us where upstairs? John! This takes away from the happiness value of the other tree! You’ve spoiled her for trees!”

“Actually, that’s her tree.”

“I know its her tree! Obviously. Now she has two--”

“No, Sherlock. That’s  _ her  _ tree. She’s had it up for weeks now.”

“But it wasn’t here when we came in to bring the box upstairs… And why would she get another tree if she already had one up?”

“Sherlock,” John chuckled, “The tree upstairs is  _ our _ tree. Mrs.Hudson just gave you that bit about not having enough room for it because she knew you wouldn’t let her go willy nilly decorating our flat for Christmas… And we hid her tree in the bedroom when we had you come down to help me carry ours up. So you wouldn’t see it.”

“I should have noticed,” Sherlock looked about the floor, “There is silver tinsel everywhere. Our tree is green.”

John smiled.

“So...She put that tree upstairs for us…”

“Well,” John bit his lip, “I may have helped come up with the idea.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“So what you’re saying is...You’re the one I’m really doing this Christmas Favor for.”

John blinked, “Yeah. I guess you could say that. Mrs.Hudson too though, you know how she loves to get into the Holiday spirit.”

“So,” Sherlock took a step forward, John stopped himself from taking a step back, even though he suddenly felt like he was being stalked by some sort of predatory animal. “I’m giving  _ you _ the commodity of happiness by doing all this,” he waved his hand to acknowledge the christmas decor around them.

“I...well like I said, Mrs.Hudson--”

“So,” and Sherlock was nearly chest to chest with him now, “I’ll be able to get away with a few things, and you won’t be able to get mad about it.”

“Hang on...”

“Maybe even ask for a favor?”

John opened his mouth to protest, but after thinking on how Sherlock had gone all out today, he closed his mouth and nodded, “Yeah, I guess.” he already regretted this.

Sherlock smiled and lifted his arm up above his head.

“What are you--” John looked up.

Mistletoe.

He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, which, even though he still had his smile up, looked a bit apprehensive.

John blinked. Smiled back.

“You do know what this means? Being caught under the mistletoe with someone?”

Sherlock sighed dramatically, dropping the mistletoe down, “Yes, John. I know what it means.”

“Go on then.”

Sherlock stopped his eye rolling to look down at John in shock and confusion, “Pardon?”

“Put it back up there then. Tall as you are I’d never be able to hold it over both our heads.”

Sherlock smiled that breathless smile he got whenever John came up with a brilliant idea out of nowhere.

The mistletoe went back up. John stepped closer.

“John...are you sure? Because If you don’t--” 

John smirked before shutting Sherlock up in a way that he’d been fantasizing about for far too long now. 

Sherlock didn’t close his eyes, and in fact froze up to make it feel as if John were kissing marble.

John pulled back.

“Sherlock, are--are you okay?”

Sherlock blinked several times in quick succession. Looked down at John. And then lunged for him.

\----

Mrs. Hudson backed out of her flat quietly and shut the door as softly as she could.

“Are they coming back up?” Greg asked loudly and so Mrs.Hudson had to shush him.

“What?” he asked more quietly, but allowed himself to be herded back into 221b.

“The boys need a little alone time,” She explained at his incredulous look.

Lestrade stared blankly for a moment, and then his eyes widened in understanding, “Oh!” 

“We’ll just give them a tick,” She said going into the kitchen to pour herself another glass of eggnog, which she’d spiked with enough rum to knock out a horse. “Or maybe a bit more than a tick.” she smiled to herself, taking a sip. 

Finally. Her boys had done it. And during the Holidays to boot! She’d have to tell the girls all about this one the next time she had them over for tea… And collect the hefty sum off of them that she was now due. Another three years, Janice had said. What a loon to think it would take that long! Mrs.Hudson had been right on the money. And her boys had been just right for each other, as she knew they would be.

Mrs.Hudson went in to join Greg and Molly where they sat on the couch, Greg already flipping through channels on the telly, not expecting Sherlock or John to appear anytime soon.

“I’m confused, where are they?” Molly asked.

Mrs.Hudson giggled into her eggnog, so Greg answered with a “You know,” and motioned down to the flat below them with his eyes, rasing his brows at Molly, begging her to get the hint without him having to actually spell it out.

“Oh… oh!” Molly blushed and reached for her own eggnog, taking a deep drink, “That’s… good.” she managed, face flushing more, though that was probably from the rub.

“About bloody time,” Greg mumbled.

“Oh, stop it there!” Mrs.Hudson said suddenly, pointing at the screen, “No, no, back a few channels.”

“What? This?” he lowered the remote as the beginning credits of some Christmas RomCom began to roll. Mrs.Hudson had seen it several times, but could never remeber the name.

“Oh, this is a good one,” Molly agreed with Mrs.Hudson and settled into the couch more.

Greg just shrugged and took a drink of his eggnog.

When there was the odd noise from the flat down downstairs, Greg just turned up the volume on the telly and everyone pretended not to notice. 

The End

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos or a comment (a kudos AND a comment would be super dope) or just send me good vibes via subspace. I'm not picky. Also, have a holly jolly Xmas, and read as much Johnlock fluff as possible. That is an order.


End file.
